


Go Home, Stiles

by alisvolatpropiis



Series: Deleted Scenes [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e01 Wolf Moon, Headcanon, Headcanon Accepted, M/M, POV Stiles, Scenting, Sort of canon compliant but also kinda not?, first meeting?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1679498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisvolatpropiis/pseuds/alisvolatpropiis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First in the series "Deleted Scenes," a group of vignettes of my headcanons inspired by various Sterek scenes. </p><p>This one, "Go Home, Stiles," is inspired by episode 1.1: Wolf Moon, and their first meeting in the woods...and you know, THAT FACE Stiles makes when he sees Derek for the first time. </p><p>Or, Stiles decides to pay Derek a visit after meeting him in woods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Home, Stiles

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING** Stiles has a brief dub/non-con fantasy while in a compromising situation with Derek; not tagged as such because no actual dub/non con takes place.
> 
> **This may not line up perfectly with canon re: when exactly Stiles figures out the werewolf thing, but let’s just assume that when he’s joking about lycanthropy in the woods right before they see Derek for the first time he's actually serious. 
> 
> **Next one in the series is inspired by "Magic Bullet". I'm open to suggestions in the comments for other Sterek scenes to play around with!
> 
> ~~Thanks for reading!~~

What happens the night after [Stiles sees Derek for the first time](http://fedwolves.tumblr.com/post/86304061778)?

**~*~**

Stiles knows he’s crazy, and not just because he’s fairly certain that his best friend – his only friend, really – is turning into a werewolf. No, Stiles is crazy because he’s pretty sure his best friend is turning into a werewolf _and_ it’s the middle of the night and he’s alone, standing in front of the burned-out husk of the Hale house, looking for _another_ werewolf.

Because Stiles is pretty sure Derek Hale is werewolf too, and he needs answers.

He’s here for answers. To help Scott. To help himself not get killed by Scott on the full moon, which is this Friday. It has absolutely nothing to do with the way Derek stared at him this afternoon when he appeared in the woods out of freaking nowhere, Scott’s inhaler in hand. And it certainly has nothing to do with the way Stiles’ mind and body buzzed with shockingly powerful arousal when he took in the terrifying beauty of Derek’s chiseled face. Stiles is pretty sure his mouth had hung open in stupefied attraction before he clumsily tried to cover it up by acting surprised that Derek had returned to town.

Stiles has suspected for awhile now that he might be not-totally-hetero, but he’s never been struck so forcefully with the desire to climb another dude like a fucking tree like he had when he first laid eyes on Derek this afternoon. Even scowling and sour-faced he was gorgeous, the pale hazel-green of his eyes shining in stark contrast with the jet-black mess of his hair and heavy eyebrows that Stiles wanted to smooth his thumbs over for some insane reason.

But that’s not why he’s here, slightly shivering in the damp night air because he left his house in a rush the second he made the decision to seek Derek out, not even bothering to throw a hoodie on over his t-shirt. He’s here to get his questions answered. To make Derek talk to him about what’s happening to Scott. Not to see Derek again. That’s not it at all.

The nearly-full moon is casting a bright, grayish glow on everything, making it seem like the world has been turned grayscale. Stiles is standing at the bottom of the decrepit-looking steps that lead up to the porch, hesitating slightly. Does Derek live here? Should he knock on the door? Throw pebbles at a bedroom window? He’s really starting to second-guess himself now, about to turn away from the house and run back to the Jeep when he hears, coming from behind him, that surprisingly soft-but-hard-edged-with-irritation voice that’s been in his mind since this afternoon.

“I thought I told you this was private property.” Stiles is appropriately startled, _not_ relieved and excited that he found Derek. Or well, that Derek found him, but whatever. He is reacting _appropriately_.

“Technically, the county owns this land,” Stiles responds, because he’s nothing if not contrarian, and yeah, he did his homework. He’s about to follow up with an even snarkier reply about forest creepers and maybe even a “this is a free country” if he gets really desperate, but as he’s speaking he turns to face Derek and every thought, and possibly the very ability to form words, leaves his mind with a rush of burning lust stronger than any he’s ever felt, even last summer when he spent nearly every day ogling a bikinied Lydia by the pool.

Because Derek is shirtless. And standing really close to Stiles. Like, way closer than he had expected him to be, close enough for Stiles to reach out and touch if the fear part of his stupid animal brain hadn’t finally started to catch up with the sex part. He knows he’s taking his life into hands, but he can’t not look, can’t not drink in as much of his painfully perfect beauty no matter what it might cost him.

Derek is slightly sweaty, his granite torso shimmering softly in the milky gray light like a very mysterious and dramatic wet dream. Stiles guesses that he’s been running, but for some reason he’s wearing dark tight jeans, which seem like a terrible choice for workout clothes, but it’s also the middle of the night and he’s most likely a werewolf, so who knows what’s normal for him?

Derek’s shoulders and arms are rippling mountains that fall gracefully into the sturdy V of his solid hips, all of him corded in muscle that Stiles absolutely wants to _lick_. “Holy shit,” Stiles murmurs under his breath, because _come on_. How is he real?

Derek’s totally unreal eyes go wide for a second and his nostrils flare before his features settle back into what appears to be their regular expression, somewhere between murderous and vaguely angst-ridden. Stiles feels a surge of pain and realizes he’s been biting his lip, and fuck, _that’s_ embarrassing. He looks down at his feet and darts his tongue out of his mouth to soothe his sore lip, wincing lightly at the sting.

Derek’s fists curl at his side and whoa, his eyes are flashing a glowing electric blue that makes Stiles gasp despite himself, and the _growl_ that comes from Derek’s throat is pure animal. Definitely a werewolf then. A werewolf who seems be…affected by Stiles in some way that he’s having difficulty puzzling out, new as he is to werewolf behavior studies.

“Whoa, dude,” Stiles says, stepping back until his heels hit the bottom step. “You know, you’re pretty terrible at keeping the whole ‘I’m a werewolf’ thing a secret,” he says, the snark in his voice working hard to cover up his nerves, hips shifting in a not-so-subtle attempt to hide a _very_ unfortunately timed erection. “I mean,” he continues, “it’s kinda of amazing you haven’t gotten yourself killed, if you’re always out here flashing your otherworldly abs and fucking _growling_ at people. And the laser eyes. Very subtle, man. Seriously, how are you not dead?”

And saying that just might be the worst choice in a night of shit choices, because it makes Derek growl even louder and lunge at him slightly, and this time there’s _actual fangs_ being bared at Stiles. “Oh my god, dude,” he gasps, any semblance of dignity he may have had completely gone. He takes a stumbling step backwards and up so he’s standing on the bottom step, getting farther away from Derek and making him feel just a tiny bit taller. It doesn’t help much. His heart is pounding and his palms are starting to sweat, fear finally starting to overwhelm desire. He swallows hard, trying to steady himself.

Derek backs away quickly, eyes and teeth going back to their regular terrifyingly-beautiful instead of straight-up terrifying. “I know you know, idiot,” he says, voice not at all sounding like it belongs to someone who was just growling at him _like an actual wolf_.

“What?”

“I heard you in the woods today. I know that you know that your friend’s been turned, and the fact that you’re here now means you’ve figured out what I am. To be honest, I was almost expecting you.”

“Oh. Okay. Sorry, I guess?” Stiles isn’t sure why he’s apologizing, but it feels like the thing to do, even though the look that darts across Derek’s features seems to suggest that it’s confusing to him as well. There’s an awkward silence that Stiles can’t stand, so he fills it. “So, are enhanced-eavesdropping skills part of the whole werewolf deal?” The word sounds strange when he says it out loud with the conviction of truth behind it.

“Why are you here?” Derek asks, ignoring Stiles’ pointless and obvious question.

 _Because I can’t stop thinking about you_ , Stiles thinks, thankfully doesn’t say. “I have questions. Like, all of the questions, actually.”

“So you came here alone in the middle of the night?” Derek is crooking one of those ridiculous eyebrows at him, and Stiles absolutely _does not_ think it’s adorable.

“Yeah. I guess, well, you know, it’s a pretty huge freaking deal. Werewolves and all.” He flails his hands in an awkward gesture that’s supposed to express the enormity and life-changing craziness of _freaking werewolves_ , but Derek just shrugs and looks Stiles up and down. “But not for you,” Stiles adds slowly, piecing it together. “You’ve always been one, haven’t you?”

Derek’s eyes hold his, the anger there softening ever so slightly. “I was born this way,” he says simply.

Stiles grins. “‘That’s right, baby,’” he half-sings, half-snorts. Derek looks downright murderous again. “Not a Lady Gaga fan then. Duly noted.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Derek says. “It’s not safe.”

“Yeah, well, neither is my best friend killing me or his mom or hell, even a house cat, on the full moon this Friday. We need answers. Sooner rather than later.”

“You seem smart enough. I’m sure you can find all the information you need on your own.” Derek doesn’t seem to think that at all, actually, but it’s clear that he has no interest in helping Stiles.    

“Yeah, well, thanks for the compliment, big guy, but actually no. Googling ‘werewolves’ isn’t as helpful as you might think,” he quips. “Really, it leads to more questions than answers. Like, is knotting really a thing?” And oh fuck, Stiles must really be insane, or at the very least he has an overdeveloped death drive because he just asked Derek about _knotting_. Stiles didn’t even know what knotting was until this evening, and fuck, now it’s going to get him killed. By a werewolf. Fuck his whole life.

“You talk too much,” Derek says, voice husky as he steps closer, getting right into Stiles’ personal space. If Stiles were to lean forward just the tiniest bit, he would feel that damp hard chest against his own, and shit, he wants to know what that feels like. He distantly wonders if his shirt would soak up Derek’s sweat, if he'll be able to smell Derek on him when he gets home to the dark privacy of his bedroom.

But Stiles doesn’t move, stays perfectly still, in fact, blood roaring in his ears. Derek seems to take this as some kind of encouragement, because he lunges forward again, eyes flashing blue, their chests brushing against each other for the briefest of moments before Stiles yelps in surprise and jerks back, landing hard on his ass on a wooden step.

He can’t even process being embarrassed or the brief stab of pain that shoots up his spine, because Derek is still moving towards him, placing one leather-booted foot on the step next to Stiles’ hand as he leans over him. It’s a move that puts Stiles’ face right in front of Derek’s dick, and for a second Stiles has a vision of Derek pulling himself out and forcing Stiles to suck him off, eyes flashing blue as he growls out his name, clawed hands in his hair. Stiles just might be a little fucked up, because a part of him nearly howls with want at the thought.

But he can’t process that reaction either, because Derek’s actually leaning over him to grab him by the arms and haul him up like he weighs absolutely nothing, carrying him up the steps and across the porch until he’s pressing him back against the front door.

Derek’s pressing himself bodily against Stiles, a low rumble thrumming from his chest as he slots himself between his legs, strong hands keeping his arms pinned to his sides. Stiles had expected a fair amount of weirdness when he decided to come out here, but this, this was so far beyond anything he had imagined. Derek is burying his face in his neck and breathing deep. _Scenting_ , Stiles thinks absently, vaguely remembering something from his research. Derek is scenting him. Derek Hale the born-werewolf, is…holy…yes. That is most definitely Derek’s erection pressed against the inside of his thigh as he freaking _scents_ him.

Stiles’ eyes roll back in his head, his body alive with alarmingly-intense pleasure, pressing back against Derek. It's the first sexual contact of his life. He hears himself moaning shamelessly, and Derek rears back suddenly, resting his head slightly on Stiles’ shoulder and releasing his arms, shifting his weight so he’s not pressing so heavily against him.

“Go home, Stiles.”

His voice is ragged and wrecked-sounding and his eyes are somehow even bluer, and Stiles hasn’t gotten very many questions answered tonight but he’s learned enough about werewolves, learned enough about Derek at least, that he knows he needs to listen.

He steps to the side, leaving Derek to catch himself against the door. Derek doesn’t watch him go, and Stiles doesn’t look back as he walks down the steps and over to his Jeep, trying his best not to run.

He drives home carefully, focusing very deliberately on not speeding or running any stop signs because the last thing he needs tonight is for his dad to pull him over.

It's not until he's nearly in his driveway that he realizes he never told Derek his name.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: http://deleted-scenes.tumblr.com/


End file.
